


Backstage at the Debates

by DevilsPetGoat



Series: Democratic Primary Fun [1]
Category: Political RPF - US 21st c.
Genre: Adultery, Comfort Sex, F/M, PWP, Why Did I Write This?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-06
Updated: 2016-01-06
Packaged: 2018-05-12 05:58:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5654953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DevilsPetGoat/pseuds/DevilsPetGoat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas.  And who cares about the damned emails, anyway?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Backstage at the Debates

“I don’t want to talk about where she went.”  Donald Trump screeched later.  “It’s disgusting!”

Oh, if he only knew…….

Las Vegas, Nevada

Wynn Las Vegas

Oct 13. 2015.

Backstage at the Debates

By The Devil’s Pet Goat

(No, this did not happen.  I am just that awful.)

It was the final straw.  Of all the crap that had happened over the last months, the last years, hell, back to when her beloved husband had started screwing every woman he could behind her back, that loser O’Malley’s campaign manager beating her to the last bathroom stall should have been nothing to get upset about.

But it was.

 _I hate this.  I hate everybody.  Reliving the most horrible day of my life for eleven hours.  Losing everything I wanted in 2008 to a man who promised the American people the moon.  And here comes another!_ Hillary fumed as she finally availed herself of the facilities and tried not to cry.  To appear back on CNN with red eyes and smeared makeup was not going to help her image.  Her image, the image of a leader.  An image Barack Obama or Bernie Sanders was not going to take from her, dammit.

Against her will, the tears started to flow down her cheeks as she left the bathroom.  Breathing hard and trying to regain control, Hillary ducked down another hallway and leaned against the door of a broom closet.  _Stop it._ She ordered herself.  _Stop it right now._

“Mrs. Clinton?”  came a voice.  “Are you all right?”  _Oh, for hell’s sake.  Shut up and go away for once, Bernie!_ The tears came down harder and she began to shake. 

“It’s all right, I promise. I’m not going to attack you.“  She was pulled away from the broom closet door and into a hug.  A very warm hug.  Hillary started.  No one had touched her like this in years.  She tentatively returned the hug.   For an elderly man, he radiated warmth and feeling.

 

“It’s just an election, and I’m not Trump or Cruz holding knives behind my back, I promise.”  He kissed the top of her forehead, and Hillary could not help it, she leaned into that kiss, enjoying it, feeling it, the smallest gesture of comfort.  And then Sanders did something even more insane, he leaned down and kissed her fully, pressing her back against the closet door with his body, feeling warm and hard and wonderful.   Hillary gasped, hearing staffers and reporters walking back and forth one hallway over.  If anyone saw this, they were done, both of them.  Heat and excitement flared through her body at the thought of them being caught.  Being seen.  _I’m not a dried up old fish, America._

 

He pulled them both back from the door, and opening it, whisked them both into the small room.  Pushing her back against the other side of the door, he kissed her again, one hand at the back of her head and the other lifting up her skirt.  _This is crazy.  I’m about to have sex with my seventy-four year old socialist opponent in a broom closet and I don’t give a fuck.  Wait, yes I do._ She reached down to help him, pushing her pantyhose and panties down, and then blushed violently, though he nor anyone else could see her, when he unzipped his pants, pushed her skirt up again,  and then was inside her. 

 

He held her against him, thrusting her again and again against the door with small bumps that no one could hopefully hear.  _Oh hell, I don’t care.  Someone is touching me, wanting me, and this is crazy and I love it._  “Let go, Hillary.”  Bernie’s Brooklyn accent grated in her ear as the heat inside her built and rose up and up and up, and he covered her mouth with his, and she came in long, panting breaths against him, and a moment later felt him cry out against her lips and come inside her.

 

Stroking her hair gently, he withdrew from her.  Taking a handkerchief from his pocket, he cleaned both of them, dressed her, and set her tenderly down on an upside down mop bucket in the corner.  “Catch your breath.” He warned, and left the closet, leaving her in the dark, gasping. 

 

Several minutes later, Hillary was back on stage, makeup fixed and calmed down.  Bernie Sanders smiled down at his podium.  It never hurt to know what people needed and find ways to give it to them.

 

 

 


End file.
